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Z is cuddled

We canoodled enjoyably for a couple of hours before getting up around nine o’clock. I was still in no hurry to start the day and ran a bath and lay back in it for a while. We have a six-foot bath, which is excellent if I want to lie down, but no good at all if I just want to relax without getting my hair wet, as I have to stretch out my toes to keep from slipping under the water and it isn’t as relaxing as I’d like it to be.

Lying there reminded me of when I was a child, and I would lie full length in the bath, with just my face out of the water and my body gently floating. I think I must have been propped on my elbows. It was very restful.

We had a service at a neighbouring church, to celebrate the ordination of one of its parishioners yesterday. In a benefice of six churches, we now have a rector, a retired clergyman and four OLMs (Ordained Local Ministers), as well as several Lay Readers or trainees and another trainee OLM. Someone mentioned gently at the churchwardens’ meeting last night that, splendid as it is to have so many able and dedicated people to preside at services, we’re a bit low on helpers to do the actual boring spadework, like cleaning churches, being treasurers and suchlike.

It was a delightful service, with a big congregation. Reg is very popular. I felt a little croaky – I have a cold – and became tired, so I did everyone a favour by not joining in the hymns. I reflected, seeing the rapt faces of some people during the last hymn, that maybe the mark of being ‘born again’ is actually seeing the point of ‘Shine Jesus Shine. I don’t get it at all, merely finding it tedious to play, but those who do absolutely love it and unselfconsciously put their faces up and hold their arms out. Afterwards, there was a lunch at the village school. I left quite early, warning a friend that I might not get to the piano recital that afternoon.

I didn’t. I slept instead. I lay on the sofa and zonked for an hour and a half and then still lay stupefied for half an hour. When I opened my eyes, Tilly was sitting on a chair where she could see my face. It isn’t a chair she normally sits on. I made space and she jumped on the sofa and wriggled up towards me for a cuddle.

I wrote up all the shop takings for the week, with the till totals. This was doing fine until Friday, when evidently someone (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me) had made a fairly substantial error and not noted it. One of the Saturday girls had done a similar thing too. She had called me over at one point, saying that the till was playing up – I put it right that time, but it must have happened again. It’s easy to do – usually, one keys in the figure and forgets to enter it, presses the next figure, enters that, and it looks like a bigger figure. Let’s say 89p, then £1.25 – it would show up as £891.25. What is supposed to happen is that one prints out the receipt, puts it in the till and does the transaction again, then Al corrects it at the end of the day.

Next week, I must catch up on things because I’m off on holiday on Friday. This will include I, Like the View’s meme, which is half-written, and a couple of other posts I seem to have said I’ll write. I’m in London on Wednesday, visiting the Mansion House and the Goldsmiths’ Fair.

I’m pondering again whether to resign (or rather, not ask to be reappointed) as a school governor next summer. I’m presently vice-chairman and, as we’re expecting an Ofsted inspection, the Head would like me to carry on. I’m also Special Educational Needs governor. I do a fair bit for that, but I am uncomfortably aware that I’ve been coasting for a couple of years. I think it’s time to go, but it’s quite hard to let go. 18 years at one school and 8 at another (with overlap, that totals 20 years) is a lot to relinquish. I’ve promised to write to the chairman, and tell her what I’m thinking and why.

I’m going to bed to wake my husband again.

But before I do, a wave to Mike, who has written a comment for every post this month. He needs no introduction from me, as he is so well know already but, although I already knew he was interesting, likeable and very readable, I now also know that he is quite the most charming bloke I have ever met. Not that I’ve actually met him, but whatever. Thanks, Mike, and congratulations on your endurance.

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14 comments on “Z is cuddled”

Harvest Festival, right? On my way to the shop, I passed one of the village church stalwarts.

“The church is that way!”, he cried. “You’re going in the wrong direction!”

“I’m sorry”, I explained, “but I conduct my own private ceremony at home. It’s highly heretical. I’ve already been ex-communicated from numerous parishes. But what can you do? We’ve already consecrated the toast. Must hurry!”

(But shush, ‘cos we haven’t gone live. You know, Village Politics to negotiate and all that. It’ll be months yet.)

And finally, since it’s just gone midnight and hence into October already, can I just say what a delight it has been to serve as your guest commenter for the month. I’ll be sticking around of course, perhaps a little less vocally, but I shall be sticking around.

awwww…. don’t edit on account of me. I’m interested…. very interested in the reverent and the irreverent.

I was thinking about that line in Shine, Jesus Shine….about our lives telling the story…. I particularly like that “Mirrored here, may our lives tell your story. Shine on me… shine on me…” Anyway, I like the idea of our flawed irreverent lives telling the story.

It was along the lines of adding marmalade to the Communion table and calling it breakfast. Not tasteful and not funny, but it was three in the morning.

Indeed, OB, there are fine expressive words in the hymn, but I don’t receive the feelings that some friends do, whose faces are aglow. The day I stand singing with my hands spread out will be a remarkable one. I always think it’s lovely that it makes people so happy, but I think I look for strength more than glow in religion. I’ve mentioned it before, probably before we met, but one of the hymns I’d like for my funeral is Father hear the prayer we offer – and that maybe says something about me!

Dave, that was most unkind of your parents. Or didn’t they think about initials?

Funny I’ve been bathing lately – as opposed to showering (should it have and e?) I find ‘happy clapping’ deeply embarrassing and suspect it isn’t your cup of tea either. No prizes for guessing what I would advise on the resignation topic. Do it! Where are you going on hols? Will miss you.

The Unobservant Eye of Z

Dramatis personae:
My husband, Lovely Tim or LT for short (though he is actually tall).
My late husband, the Sage, aka Russell.
My children: Dearest daughter Weeza, who has London Ways, is married to Phil. Their daughter is Zerlina Buttercup and their son is Augustus Bufo. Elder son - Al X, is married to Dilly. Their children are Squiffany Virgilia, Maximus Pugsley and Hadrian Swallow. Younger son - Ro married to Dora and their two-year-old is Rufus Russell.
Big Sister: Wink. She lives in Wiltshire, 230 miles away, but we're much closer than that.
We live with our cat Eloise, a black tortoiseshell half-Ragdoll.
Bantams live in the garden and cats live in the barns but we feed them and they have ambitions to be pets too. In addition, cows come to visit in the summer. Mostly, they stay in the fields. None of them has got a hoof in the door yet.
There is an annexe to the house, where Roses lives and her beloved, Lawrence, spends a lot of time there. Her son, Boy, lives there too.

Z’s blogroll

Updating takes too much memory, sorry - but then I'm not very young any more, so am hanging on to the memory I've got. Please don't look for any significance in the order - I'm not drunk but I am disorderly.

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Oh, what's the problem? This is hardly Great Literature. I'd appreciate anything taken from here being acknowledged, and I might change my mind if I'm suddenly proclaimed as the Literary Queen of the Blogosphere - but I probably wouldn't. Do what you like, just as long as it doesn't extend to defamation of anyone, even me.

Actually, you want to pass off what I say as your own, I might even be flattered. Let's face it, who cares anyway?